


The Force Shall Free Me

by Lumielles



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Childhood, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Light Side Sith Inquisitor, Non-Sexual Slavery, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-22 18:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12488164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumielles/pseuds/Lumielles
Summary: Abandoned, being rewritten





	1. Prologue

     If Idan hadn’t been a slave, this very well could have been one of the most important days of his life.  He should be happy, but as agonized screams came from the next room, all he could feel was overwhelming heartache.  The idea of bringing a child into this galaxy filled him with so much guilt, he felt suffocated.  He’d been a slave all of his life; he came from a long line of them, he’d been told.  And here he was, regretfully continuing that line.  Not like he had much of a choice.

     He had been purchased by a Sith Lord for the sole purpose of impregnating her favorite slave.  She wanted a replacement, a daughter, when Petra grew older and would be considered unattractive.  His new pureblood Master, Lady Vemora, had kept him after he proved useful in taking care of her two children, though he original plan was to sell him again after a successful insemination.

     At the considerably young age of nineteen, he felt like a man three times his age.  His bones ached, several fingers were crooked from breaks, even his black hair had tiny slivers of gray hiding amongst the strands.  He had scars all over his body, some accidental and some given to him by the handful of masters he’d been with.

     A hand tugged at his arm from beside him on the mattress.  It was all that sat between him and the cold floor.  A little boy with sandy blonde hair crawled into his crossed lap.  Looking down, he was met with a toothy grin.  Idan allowed an absent-minded smile to pull at the corners of his cracked lips.

     “Hello,” Idan said.  The four-year-old normally wasn’t up at this time of night, but Petra’s labor was keeping everyone up.

     “Is mommy alright?” he asked.  The boy was Petra’s son, and had her hair and blue eyes. 

     “She’s just having trouble with your baby sister,” Idan said, trying to sound reassuring

     “So, will the baby call you papa?” he asked.

     “I suppose,” Idan nodded.  The thought of it made his skin prickle.  In all aspects, he was still considered a child himself.  He adjusted the slave collar around his neck, pulling at it as he found it increasingly hard to swallow.

     “Can I?” Brevom mumbled, looking away and hiding his face.

     “Can you what, Brev?” Idan said.

     “Can I call you Papa too?”

     Idan had had a feeling that was where the conversation was headed.  He wanted to refuse, he didn’t want anyone calling him dad, he didn’t want to be a father.  But he’d grown to love Brevom, often being in charge of his care because Petra seemed to have no interest in her son.  He knew nothing of the boy’s actual father, but he suspected the man might be dead, with the way everyone avoided the topic. 

     The tightness in his chest doubled, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no.  So instead, he nodded, forcing a smile.

     “You can call me whatever you want.”

     Brevom lit up, lifting himself from Idan’s lap and hugging him.  Idan hugged him back, though doubt swam through his mind. 

     In the year he’d spent in the household, Idan had found himself falling into Brevom’s empty father roll.  Tonight, they were even sharing Idan’s cot, seeing as Brevom couldn’t be in Petra’s private room as he usually was.  Brevom was a good boy, often being put to work with Landris in the kitchen.  He had the brightest disposition Idan had ever seen in a slave, perhaps it was one of the perks of being born in the house of a Sith Lord.

     “She’s screaming a lot,” Brevom said, pushing himself away.  He looked over his shoulder to the shared wall, where on the other side his mother again screamed out in pain.

     “Yes, but she’ll be fine,” Idan assured him.

     “If she keeps screaming like that, maybe she’ll lose her voice entirely.  That’d be a treat,” Gren, the oldest of them, said from his own cot on the floor.  “Leave it to Petra to have a baby in the middle of the kriffing night.”

     Allowing himself to chuckle, Idan looked over at Landris.  The middle aged togruta woman was sitting on her bed, folding laundry.  She was surrounded by piles of the master’s sheets, towels, and clothing.  She shook her head, disapproving, but there was a hint of a smile.

     Aside from Lady Vemora, Petra wasn’t liked among the household.  She was the Master’s prize possession.  Vemora had spoiled her, too worried about having an attractive youthful slave, and if possible, the prettiest slave on the planet.  Ziost, as Idan quickly learned, was a passive warzone of bored wives and husbands, their only joy coming from making others jealous and miserable.  Prettiest slave was a popular category.  Slave bloodlines were being manipulated like the breeding of dogs.

     He sighed as Brevom returned to playing with his toy beside him. Having changed hands multiple times since he was a child, Idan knew how lucky he was to be working in a Sith Lord’s home; he was given proper clothes, a place to sleep, even regular meals.  It was paradise compared to some of the places he’d been.  He hoped Brevom would always know this comfort, that his daughter would never want for dry clothes or a sleeping mat. 

* * *

 

     Voices came from Petra’s room, followed by the cry of an infant.  Idan’s heart leapt into his throat, making it even harder to breath. 

     “Is that her?” Brevom looked up at him, eyes shining with excitement.

     “Uh—yes,” Idan said, his throat tight.

     “Quite the set of lungs on her,” Landris said as Gren groaned.

     “Lumielle!” Vemora’s guttural bellow came from outside the door.  Idan leapt to his feet, which were sore from a day’s work.  He left Brevom by the cot, Landris silently assuring him she’d watch the boy.

     The hall was brightly lit, bouncing off the windowless metal walls.  Idan’s eyes hurt as they slowly adjusted.  Vemora stood feet away from the door, her bright red skin gleaming under the harsh lights.

     “My Lady?” Idan lowered his head, the door to the sleeping quarters shutting behind him.

     “Here,” Vemora waved her hand, “Take it.”

     Kisa appeared from Petra’s room, placing the blanketed bundle she held into Idan’s unsuspecting arms.

     “My Lady, I— “

     “I have no use for it until it’s older.  Not exactly what I desired, but it will have to work.  Do with it what you will, I don’t want to hear or see it until it’s useful.” Vemora growled, turning in such a forced spin that her silk nightgown floated in the air behind her, her dark red braid swung around her shoulder and her neck.  For a moment, it almost resembled a noose.

     Soft cooing came from the blanket; dark brown eyes were staring up at him, thick wisps of black hair were still wet and stuck to her head.  It was clear who she took after, and Idan felt something he had never felt before.  Something about seeing so much of himself in the minutes old infant.

     “Hello,” I choked on the word.  She was beautiful, a healthy shade of pink.  He knew there was nothing in the galaxy he would ever love more.

     “The Lady wasn’t happy,” Kisa frowned when Idan looked at her, pushing her tattooed lekku off her shoulder, “But I told her that baby hairs fall out and she might end up blonde like Petra.”

     “And she bought that, did she?” Idan said, quietly.  Kisa nodded.  “And Petra?”

     “Said she wants you dead, quite a few times,” the twi’lek sighed.

     “Thank you Kisa.  Go get some rest,” Idan said, walking up to Petra’s door.

     “Good luck,” Kisa mumbled.

    

* * *

 

     Idan entered.  He didn’t dislike Petra as much as the others, they had formed an awkward bond over the past year.  While they were in no way friends, Idan still wanted to make sure she was okay.

     “What do you want?” Petra said, propped up against a mountain of lumpy soiled pillows.  Her room was a converted storage closet.  Unlike the rest of them, she actually had a bedframe, allowing her to sleep off the floor.  Brevom often shared this room with her, finding space tucked away in the corner.

     “I’m just checking on you,” Idan said, rocking his arms gently as he approached her bed.

     “I’m fine,” Petra said, her voice short.  Her face was still flushed from the labor, skin shiny with sweat and hair stringy and damp.  Her tone was cold and exhausted, as expected.

     “You don’t want to hold her?” Idan asked.

     “I didn’t _want_ her,” Petra stared forward at the wall.

     “Neither did I, Petra, but she’s here now,” Idan sighed. “She’s going to need us.”

     “Go away, will you?”

     “We should name her,” he said, ignoring her. 

     “Vemora called her ‘disappointing’, go with that.” She crossed her arms over her chest, closing her eyes.

     “Petra.”

     “Idan, I’m tired,” her eyes shot open, glaring at him.

     “You can’t just pretend like your children don’t exist— “

     “That’s _exactly_ what I can do.  Why do you care, anyway?”

     “Because I’m the one who’s stuck raising them because you’re too selfish to help!” Idan snapped, causing his daughter to startle.

     “Then drown them!” Petra snarled, “Do whatever you want with them!”

     Eyes wide, Idan watched her.  He stopped himself from responding angrily.  She was upset, and understandably so.  She’d just spent nine months carrying a child that had been forced upon her, forced to sleep with a man she knew nothing about.  They both had no say in the matter, completely powerless and humiliated.  It was easy for Idan to forget that she also suffered from this; she was always so cold and stoic that she seemed to lack any kind of emotion other than annoyance.  It boiled down to the fact that they were both slaves, even if one of them was highly favored.  He certainly wasn’t helping her by trying to force her to care.

     “She’ll need to be fed soon,” Idan lowered his voice, speaking calmly.  Petra reacted well to his change I tone, making eye contact with him.

     “You can bring her back when she’s hungry, then, but I just—I want to be left alone.” She said, her own voice softening.

     “I can do that,” Idan stood.

 

* * *

 

     In the darkened empty kitchen, Idan had settled on the floor.  His daughter laid in his lap as he carefully washed her with a wet cloth.

     “We need to come up with a name for you, don’t we?” Idan said.  She yawned, stretching a single arm into the air.

     The thought of Petra and Vemora grooming this little girl into another obedient handmaiden made him feel sick.  He could imagine seeing her grown, with the same judgmental scowl as her mother, the same indifference in her eyes as those below her suffered.  He didn’t want to allow it, but he didn’t have any kind of say in the matter.  He had no choice.

     Choice.  Something he would never experience, not to the extent that he should.  Not if he had been born under the Republic.  His daughter would never experience it either.  He had failed her before she even took her first breath.

     “I’m sorry,” Idan whispered, running the cloth between her small curled fingers.  The grasped the cloth instinctively and stared up at her father with big eyes.  He placed his hand on her little chest, feeling her heartbeat. 

     “Idan?” Brevom said as he poked his head into the kitchen.

     “You should be in bed,” Idan said, faking a stern look.

     “I wanted to see the baby,” the boy said, sitting beside him on the floor.  Idan tilted his lap a but so Brevom could see his baby sister.

     “Hello, Aramys,” Brevom grinned, leaning forward and gently kissing his sister’s head.

     “Aramys?” Idan said.

     “Like from the stories you tell be about the magic convor,” he said, referring to the bedtime stories Idan would make up for him.  A magical convor named Aramys who had special healing feathers and had escaped her evil captors to explore the galaxy.  A character he had named after his mother, who had often waxed poetic about being a bird, enjoying freedom they could only dream of having.

     “You want me to name your sister after a bird?” Idan smiled, having never mentioned his mother to Brevom.

     “She’s a good bird, papa.” Brevom said, calling Idan by that for the first time.  While Idan was happy to fill in for Brevom’s missing father figure, he was still unsure if he liked the new title.

     “So, if you name her Aramys, she’ll be a good little sister?”

     “Probably,” Brevom nodded, “I hope she likes me.”

     “I think she’s going to love you.” Idan assured him.  He wrapped Aramys back up in her blanket just as she began to whimper.  “I need to get her back to mommy, I think she’s hungry. Go have Landris put you back to bed.”

     “Can’t you do it?” Brevom frowned.

     “I told you, Brev, tonight I’m going to be busy with the baby.” Idan mumbled as he stood.  His knees protested and he winced.

     Brevom voiced his disappointment, but begrudgingly lead Idan back to the slave corridor at the back of the apartment.

    

* * *

 

     Once Brevom let himself back into the sleeping quarters, Idan found himself frozen outside the door.  An old feeling was strangling him, twisting his insides and making it near impossible to hold back tears.  There was a sudden deep desperation for the sensation of his mother’s hand in his hair, her voice humming him to sleep; the pain of her ragged fingernails digging into his arms as she clung to him as he was ripped away, his cries mixing with hers.  He could still feel the tight grip on his waist as he was loaded onto the transport.  He could still perfectly recall the sight of his mother being pushed into the jungle mud by the officers, the sound of heavy rain hitting the transport, the damp air—The sound of a baby crying?

     There wasn’t a baby there that day.

     Each of Idan’s muscles relaxed at once; he hadn’t been aware of how rigid he’d been holding them.  The sound of his daughter beginning to cry had broken him out of his trance.  He hadn’t thought about that day for years, and now he wondered how long he’d have before Aramys was eventually taken from him as well.  Even only having known her for a few hours, the thought made him feel ill.

 

* * *

 

     Petra hid what she could of her face as the door to her room opened.  She assumed it would be Landris, coming to check on her again.  Wiping away tears with the back of her hand, she set her shoulders back and looked at the doorway with regained composure.

     Idan stood there, a whining infant in his arms.  The bluish bags under his reddened and puffy eyes made it clear that he hadn’t slept since they’d last spoken, and that he’d been crying as well.

     “She’s hungry,” he said, his voice flat.  He spoke with a brogue that was uncommon on Ziost.  She wondered where he had picked it up, if had been his since childhood, or from one of his old masters.

     Petra opened her arms to accept the baby.  She shifted the infant into a proper position, using only what she remembered from nursing Brevom.  Idan slumped onto the foot of the bed, his shoulders drooping in exhaustion.

     After a few minutes of struggling, Petra managed to get her daughter to latch on.  The infant fed happily as Petra looked back to Idan.  His neck was craned backwards as he watched the ceiling.  His face was an emotional void, unusual for him.

     “Do you remember where you came from?” he asked, his lips barely moving. 

     “No, not really,” Petra answered, “I’ve been with Vemora for as long as I can remember.”

     “I was nine when I was taken from my mother on Dromund Kaas.  We were in the jungle…  I can honestly say I never remember being fully dry as a child,” Idan let out an odd uncomfortable laugh.  “I was too small to be of any use for a particular project, so I was sold off.  I changed hands so many times before Vemora bought me…”

     “I remember, I was there,” Petra said.  It wasn’t like him to ramble, and he still had an empty look in his eyes.  She had been at Vemora’s side that day in the slave market, she had tried to protest that Idan was too young in hopes to stave off her master’s plan.  The last thing she wanted to be again was pregnant. “You were on sale, I think.”

     Idan nodded, still staring absently at the ceiling.  They both remained silent, listening to the soft gurgles and grunts coming from their daughter.

     “Have you named her yet?” Petra asked, hating the quiet

     “Not really,” Idan straightened his neck, smiling briefly, “But Brevom came up with something.”

     “What?”

     “Aramys.”

     Petra thought to herself; the name didn’t provoke any kind of emotional response.  She couldn’t picture herself saying it with a smile or in a kind tone.  There was nothing but numbness attached to it.  It was perfect.

     “I suppose it’ll do,” Petra signed, pretending to settle for it.

     “You’re going to let your son name our daughter?” Idan asked, faking concern.

     “I’m certainly not going to do it,” Petra said.

     Aramys relaxed in her mother’s arms, her little fingers uncurling from the fists they’d been in.  The suckling noises slowed until she had lulled herself to sleep.

     “She’s done,” Petra slowly removed her from her chest, handing her back to her father.

     “Hello, Aramys,” Idan mumbled as he looked down at his daughter, dribbles of milk around her heart shaped mouth.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aramys is 4, Idan is 23, Brevom is 8, and Petra is 28

     There was laughter from the dining room, forced but jubilant.  The laughter slowly faded into quiet chatter that was too muffled to understand through the closed door to the kitchen.  The masters were hosting a dinner party, and the slaves were on their best behavior.  Aramys included.

     Perched on the counter, she was dutifully drying every dish that her father washed in the sink beside her.  It was boring work, especially since they had to stay quiet as to not interrupt dinner.  She listened to the sound of sloshing water in the sink as Idan scrubbed a frying pan.  Usually her brother would be here, he usually had drying duty right along with her.  A fever had gone been given to him by Vemora’s children, Emarii and Jasik, who had suffered from symptoms last week.  It was in everyone’s best interest that Brevom remain in bed until the fever lifted.

     It was why Aramys had been kept away from him as much as Idan could manage.  He didn’t want her to catch what her brother had.  Their separation was proving to be difficult.  Aramys without her brother was cranky, whiny, and had an overall terrible attitude.  She’d gotten in trouble more in the past two days than she had in her collective four years of life.

     “Aramys,” Idan said softly, holding out a wet frying pan to her.  She was staring at nothing in particular, a familiar far off look in her eyes.  She missed her brother.  “Brevom’s fine, love.”

     “Yeah,” she mumbled, still distant.  She mindlessly pulled at her slave collar and continued to ignore the pan Idan was trying to give her.

     “Don’t pull at it,” Idan said, putting down the pan and reaching out with his soap covered hand.  As he took her little hand in his, she looked at him.  With her sitting on the counter, she was at his eye level.  Idan silently criticized his own small stature.

     She had only been in her collar for a little over a week, having gotten it ‘installed’ shortly after her birthday.  Since it’d had been put on, Idan had realized he had taken for granted the years where her neck was free of such a thing.  Every night she complained about it while trying to sleep; interrupting his bedtime stories with grumbling about how it hurt to sleep on and how the shock prongs that had been implanted into her neck were sore and irritated.  Somehow Idan had managed to purchase a tiny amount of numbing gel to put at the implant site at the back of her neck, but he was already out of it and wouldn’t be able to afford more for another several months.

     At least he had a personal stipend, as miniscule as it was.  Three credits a month, given to him to spend on Aramys and Brevom’s developmental growth.  Petra had taken quite a bit of convincing to request any kind of money from Vemora, but she had argued that stupid, uneducated slaves would only make the household look bad.  It’d worked, as it often did; it still surprised him how much Vemora would believe if it left Petra’s lips.

     “It hurts,” Aramys said, angrily throwing her drying towel to the tile floor.

     “Aramys!” Idan hissed, bending down to pick it up, “Don’t do that ever again.”

     “I don’t want to be a slave, papa,” she growled, glaring at him.  She looked like her mother for a moment, but her attempt at matching Petra’s menacing stare fell short.  Idan couldn’t help but smile.  Aramys whined, crossing her arms over her chest with a loud huff.

     “Nobody wants to be a slave, love,” Idan sighed.  Standing in front of his daughter, he tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “But we are.  The important thing is that we— “

     “Are together,” Aramys finished moodily.  She’d heard him say that hundreds of times, how lucky they were to be together and under the ownership of a Sith Lord.  For a young child, of course, hearing it wasn’t nearly the same as understanding it.  How could she, she hadn’t left the apartment since she was small enough to be wrapped against her father’s chest.

     “I love you,” Idan said with a sad smile.  Pressing his forehead against hers, he looked into her eyes and watched the scowl soften.

     “I love you too, papa,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her nose into his.

     “What do you say we finish this and then go check on Brev, yeah?”

     “Okay,” Aramys nodded, begrudgingly taking the towel back from her father as he returned to the sink beside her.  “I’m tired.”

     “You’re not the only one,” Idan grumbled, bracing himself on the counter as he stretched his back.  A vertebra popped and a muscle twinged.  It overall brought him little relief.

     “Tell you what,” he said, standing straight again, “If you finish helping me, you can come do the shopping with me tomorrow.”

     “Really?” she asked, spinning her head so quickly that loose hair fell into her eyes.  She pushed it away impatiently.  Idan had brought a finger to his lips, worried her voice was getting a little too loud.  Understanding the gesture all too well, she nodded.

     “Since Brevom can’t go, I’ll need a helper,” he said with a shrug.  He was playing blasé, though he was almost as excited as she was.  Despite his initial fears, welcoming Aramys into his life had been one of the easiest things he’d ever done.  He felt a little less broken when he was around her, like he finally had some kind of purpose.

     Aramys opened her mouth to speak, wanting to ask if they could buy Brevom a surprise since he was sick.  Before she could utter one syllable, the loud crash of plates hitting the floor and breaking came from the dining room.  Booming shouts from Lord Kreso, Vemora’s husband, made the both of them jump.  Without drying his hands with the towel he’d flung over his shoulder, Idan rushed to the doorway, peeking into the dining room through the swinging door.

     “Stay there,” Idan said to Aramys, disappearing through the door.  She didn’t even have time to respond.  Jutting out her lower lip, she continued to dry the pan.  She finished quickly and put the pan beside her on the counter.  Swinging her legs to an imaginary beat, she yawned.  Kisa was apologizing to someone, her voice timid and wobbly.

     There wasn’t anything stopping her from lowering herself from the counter and taking a peek into the dining room.  Nothing except her father’s explicit instructions to stay.  With pursed lips, she mindlessly pulled on her collar again.  It was a generic thing, a ‘growth collar’ her mother called it.  It could be adjusted as she grew.  It wasn’t anything like her mother’s, who had one made of gold plated durasteel adorned with two colored stones.  Red and yellow, the colors of Vemora’s family.  While she hadn’t wanted to wear the collar, she’d still been disappointed when she wasn’t given a collar as pretty as her mother’s.

     More apologizing and shouting came from the dining room, her father’s voice now mixed among the noise.  Clearly, whatever was happening in there was worth a look.

     Hopping to the floor, she made her way around the large island counter that sat between her and the door.  A soft meow came from behind her, making her turn.

     Vemora’s beloved pet spukami nudged itself against Aramys’ leg, it’s black void of fur soft against her skin.

     “Are you hungry?” Aramys asked, squatting down to pet the cat. He pushed his face against her palm, a low purr emanating from his throat.  After taking a quick look around the kitchen, she spotted his food bowl up on the island.  An ornate bowl that glittered under the harsh kitchen lighting.  It, like her mother’s collar, was encrusted with red and yellow stones.

     Standing on her toes, she reached for the bowl.  Try as she might, however, she was a few inches short.  She gave it several tries, each time struggling to extend her arm more than an inch.

     “I’m sorry, I can’t reach it,” she said, looking down at the cat.  But the cat had decided that Aramys was no longer worthy of his attention and had begun to saunter out into the main apartment.

     “Ryzo, come back,” she whispered, following him out into the dimly lit hall.

     She trailed the cat, following his flicking tail past the slave corridor and towards the living room.  Trekking through two hallways, she realized she’d ventured to a part of the penthouse that she’d only ever been with her father, and always during daylight.  As she followed Ryzo into the grand living room, there was no light except the eerie glow of New Adasta seeping in from the floor to ceiling windows that made up an entire wall.

     Ryzo continued on without her as she stopped to view the city.  Little hands pressed against the window, and her mouth opened in awe.  The city glowed with different shades of blue and red, a dense fog settling between the buildings.  It all looked so grand and mysterious.  She could only imagine what kind of adventures she’d have tomorrow with her father.  Brevom always returned home with a story about street performers in the plaza, once even seeing a dancing monkey-lizard.

     When she was ready to return to her pursuit of Ryzo, she turned away from the window, leaving handprints on the otherwise spotless glass.  The cat, however, had vanished, leaving her alone.

     She wasn’t scared, though she probably should have been.  There wasn’t any kind of urgency to return to the kitchen before her father found her missing.  The living room looked like another world in this lighting.  There was a plate of cheeses, jams, and fancy crackers and bread on the table between the extravagant couches.  The upholstery was soft under her fingertips as she ran them along the cushions.  A deep blue velvet.  Crystal stemware surrounded the tray on the table, each with a different color of alcohol at the bottom.  She had watched Landris pour them, arranging them on the tray her father had held.  

     The silence finally wore at her and she began to worry.  The adjoining hallways all looked the same by now, and she had no memory of which direction the cat had led her from.

     “Ryzo?” she said softly, hoping to hear a reassuring mew come from somewhere.  But there was no response.  She’d been completely abandoned by the animal.  There was a new tightness in her chest as she thought about what might happen if she were to be caught here on her own.  Papa would be disappointed, and would give her that face she hated.

     “Papa,” Aramys whimpered, looking down one of the halls.  There was a sound of laughter, nearly identical to the one she’d heard earlier from the dining room.  It was impossible to tell which hall it came from, leaving her to guess.

     The second one seemed familiar, there was a painting on the wall she thought she remembered.  She knew she had turned a corner, but no memory of which direction the turn had been.  But there was a turn in this hallway, and that was good enough for her.  

     Closed doors lined the hall, and it felt like it went on forever.  She didn’t recognize anything, and the darkness began to make her feel a little panicked.  Still she continued on, hoping to see something familiar.  Eventually the hall ended in double doors, made of polished metal like the others.  A bright light could be seen under the door.

     Aramys approached it slowly, listening.  The laughter had faded into nothing but eerie silence.

     Her hand reached out for the door knob.  Curiosity had gotten her in trouble in the past, but repercussions for what she was doing was the furthest thing from her mind.  She wondered what was on the other side of the door, what the light could be.  The cool metal against her fingertips made her skin prickle, and butterflies filled her stomach as she began to turn the—

     A hand reached out from behind and grabbed her wrist, painfully yanking her away from the door.  She was lifted into someone’s arms in a graceful swoop, her legs finding their place around the person’s hip.  Blue eyes met brown and Aramys smiled in relief.

     “Mommy,” she said.

     “What are you doing?” Petra growled.

     “Ryzo was— “

     “You have no business to be wandering the house like this,” Petra said sternly, still holding her daughter’s wrist tight.

     “Ow,” Aramys frowned as she tried to wriggle it from her grasp.

     “Think of how much worse it could have been if the Masters found you instead of me, you little pain.”

     “I’m sorry,” Aramys said, her lower lip quivering.  Petra grumbled to herself, lifting Aramys higher on her hip.

     “Please don’t cry,” Petra sighed, running a thumb over Aramys’ cheek.  It was never her intention to love her daughter, she had tried to be so careful when Aramys was a baby to distance herself.  But she found it to be lonely, and she was already isolated as it was.  Caretaking had never been Petra’s strength, so she left most of the parenting to Idan.  She would mother here and there, but it still made her remarkably uncomfortable.  What if she did something wrong?  What if she ended up ruining her two children?  It was best to stay at a distance to avoid such a thing.

     Aramys nodded, rubbing away the tears that had welled up with the back of her hands.

     “I’m going to put you with your brother,” Petra said.  Her hope was to get back to Vemora before her absence was noticed. “I’m risking my own neck for you.”

     “I love you mommy,” Aramys said in a sad little whisper. Petra’s frown softened as her stomach churned; her throat tightened, and it took everything she had not to return the sentiment.  

     The past few years had changed her, and it was terrifying.  Before Aramys, before Idan, even before Brevom, she knew exactly who she was.  She’d been groomed from near infancy to be the perfect slave, the perfect pet.  She had convinced herself she was happy, that she had won the slave master lottery.  Then she met _him_ , and she thought everything was perfect.  But _he_ had been angry and cruel, and when Brevom came she had already shut herself off, banished herself to the farthest corners of her soul so she’d stop hurting and she’d return to being what she thought happy was.  And for a while, it had worked. Until Idan.  Until Aramys.

     “Yes, well…” she cleared her throat.  Not finishing her thought, she began her trek back to the living room.

     Aramys clung to her mother, silently trying to stop herself from crying.  But there were strong emotions radiating off of Petra.  Aramys could sense them and it was making her anxious.  By the time they made their way to the living room where Aramys had lost track of the cat, she was completely overwhelmed.  She began pushing herself away from her mother, desperately wanting to be put down, to get away from the things that she was feeling.

     “Aramys!” Petra said through gritted teeth, trying to hold onto her. “Aramys, stop!”

     “No!” Aramys shouted, locking her elbows as she pushed away one last time.  There was a pulse of energy that pushed Petra to the ground.  She had let go of Aramys as she fell, dropping her on the floor beside her.  A loud cry filled the apartment, echoing though the adjoining halls.  Petra’s blood froze, her fingers digging into the rug she’d fallen onto.  The masters would be sure to hear her, and punishment would surely follow; they’d likely punish her and Idan for allowing her to wander.  She stared at her crying daughter, wide eyed.  That pulse, she realized as her heart dropped, it had been the force.

     All those things that had happened to her during the time she carried Aramys, those things she couldn’t explain.  The visions and dreams, or those objects flying across her room when she sneezed.

     A thin figure swooped in from behind them, lifting Aramys up in one graceful and silent movement.  Almost immediately, the girl quieted down, burying her face into the figure’s boney shoulder.  Still wide eyed, and mouth ajar, Petra looked up.  Idan offered her his free hand, his other supporting Aramys on his hip.  She took his hand, stumbling to her feet and at a loss for words.

     “What happened?” Idan asked, a broken expression betraying his calm tone.

     “What happened?” Petra parroted, dropping her shock with trained precision, “What happened is that you let her wander around!”

     “Kisa dropped a—” Idan began with a sharp inhale.  He grimaced, cutting himself off.  He shifted Aramys off his hip, using both hands to support her as she wrapped her arms around his neck.  “I’m doing the best I can.”

     “Do better, then.”

     “That’s not fair,” Idan scowled, his voice low. “I have so much work in this house with Gren gone and Brevom sick.”

     “We’re slaves, Idan, of course it’s not fair,” Petra hissed.  She didn’t understand where her sudden anger was coming from.

     “ _We_?” Idan snapped, but continued to keep his voice barely above a whisper, “You’re more a spoiled pet than a slave!”

     Petra stiffened, a soft gasp escaping her.  She wanted to snap back, but she knew he was right.  Though she would never admit it.

     “I-I di-didn’t mean that,” Idan stumbled on the words, “I’m just… tired.”

     He was so much more than tired.  It was clear even to her.  His skin had an unhealthy grayness to it, the dark circles under his eyes told of sleepless nights, and the gray at his temples argued that he couldn’t be the twenty-three years Petra knew he was.

     “Of course you meant it,” Petra said, voice cool.  She held her chin out and lifted her nose.  If he thought she was a spoiled pet, she wasn’t going to try and convince him otherwise. “You have a bigger problem anyway; your daughter truly is _just_ like you.”

     “What?” Idan’s brow furrowed, “If this is another monologue about how terrible Vemora was to you for not giving birth to a kriffing clone, I really don’t have the time— “

     “The _force_ , Idan.  How dense are you?” Petra patronized him.  While she would have once enjoyed seeing the color drain from his already pallid face, she surprised herself when it instead tore right through her.  Swallowing hard, she forced herself to keep her composure.  

     “That’s not funny,” Idan growled, pushing past her.

     “I wasn’t joking, Idan,” Petra grabbed onto his arm.  He was short enough that she didn’t have to stand on her toes to whisper into his ear, “I won’t tell anyone, so long as you never speak to me like that again.”  She had tightened her grip on his arm with each word.  This is how she would have acted years ago, but now it was just a practiced façade.

     “What do you have to gain by lying?” Idan turned back to her.  He tried to keep his voice down, but there was nothing he could do to stop Aramys from listening to them.

     _Because I can’t lose her now_ , she thought.

     “Do you think I want to face Vemora’s wrath for giving birth to a failure?  She wanted a replacement for me, what would I have to gain by sending it to Korriban?” Petra said, looking at him questioningly.

     Idan eyed her for several seconds.  He had confided in her years ago that he had a connection to the force, while she was pregnant with their daughter.  He had showed her a cracked hurrikaine crystal he’d found as a boy in the jungle, how it glowed a faint purple at his touch and only his.  How both his mothers had told him to get rid of it and never tell anyone.  She hadn’t turned him in then, and he truly wanted to believe she wouldn’t turn in her own child now.  He knew the likelihood of a slave becoming anything more than a dead acolyte was rare, he had heard more than enough horror stories in his short lifetime.

     “You should get back to the Lady before she misses you,” Idan said.  Petra held his stare, but nodded.  She let him go and he started off toward the slave corridor.

     “Are you alright, love?” Idan asked softly, looking down at Aramys.  Her eyes were red and puffy, he could see the wet stains on his uniform from her tears.

     “No,” she sniffled, once again burying her face into his shoulder.

     “We’ll have to talk about it later, but you are in trouble, Aramys.” Idan gave her a halfhearted scowl, but she wasn’t looking at him.

     “I followed Ryzo,” she said, muffled by his shoulder.

     “Ah,” Idan sighed, turning into the well-lit corridor.

     He noticed her fidgeting with her collar again.  With both his hands being used to hold her, he couldn’t stop her.  She was heavier than he was used to, though he wasn’t particularly strong to begin with.  Built for housework, a slaver had once said.

 

* * *

 

     Brevom looked up from his glitchy datapad as the door opened and Idan hurried in.  Aramys was curled into him, rubbing her eyes with her hand.

     “Papa?” Brevom mumbled as Idan plopped his little sister down at the foot of his cot.

     “Aramys got in a little bit of trouble,” Idan mumbled, giving a tired smile. “Can you watch her while I finish up?”

     “Okay.” Brevom nodded, “Come here, Ary.”  He pushed himself to the edge of the mattress to make room for Aramys beside him, patting the spot with his hand. She scrambled to his side, curling into him as she had Idan.

     “I will be back as soon as I can, I promise,” Idan said, pinching the bridge of his nose.  He knew he would be working for another few hours at least, especially if the Masters had heard Aramys’ outburst.

 

     “What did you do?” Brevom asked after Idan had left.  Aramys frowned, looking up at her older brother with large eyes. “Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

     “I pushed mom.” Aramys said, her voice flat as she looked away. “I think something’s wrong with me.”

     “Because you pushed her?”

     “They were talking about me, I think, like something was wrong with me.”

     “I’m sure it’s nothing.” Brevom said.

     Aramys shrugged.

     “What are you reading?” she asked.

     Brevom looked back down at the datapad.  It was over a decade old and was considered completely obsolete, but it was his most prized possession.  He’d gotten it from their mother last year for his birthday.  He had read the book that was on it over a dozen times, each time enjoying it more than the last.

     “Same as always,” Brevom coughed.

     “Bleh,” Aramys stuck out her tongue.  Her brother’s book was boring, and she had spent all day being bored.  “What about a game?”

     “I don’t have any games on this, you know that.”

     “Nooo,” Aramys whined. “Like a real one.”

     “If you get the dice,” Brevom said, shutting down the pad.  Aramys leapt from the cot and ran over to a small basket across the room.  It was where she kept all the things her father and Brevom had ever brought her back from their shopping trips.  They were knickknacks, worthless items that held an absurd amount of value to her.  A pair of dice she’d gotten from Idan was her favorite; he had created a game with them to teach her math.  First person to collectively roll to fifty won.  Then the game would begin again.  Brevom, at the age of eight, found it pointless.  The smile that it would bring to his little sister’s face, though, always made it worth a few games.

     “No cheating,” Aramys said as she sat in front of him, legs folded beneath her.  She dropped the two dice between them on the blanket.

     “On my honor,” Brevom put a hand over his heart before laughing.

 

* * *

 

     A black cloak was secured around her shoulders as her father gave her a reassuring smile.  Idan was kneeling in front of her, tying off the cloak.  She was waiting patiently for his answer.

     “I suppose you could call your birthday Life Day, but then what would you call Life Day?” he asked.

     “I don’t know,” Aramys mumbled.

     “Then I guess we’ll just have to be like everyone else and keep calling your birthday “birthday”,” Idan sighed, as if he was disappointed.  “I was so sure you’d come up with a better name.”

     “What about calling Life Day “Light Day”, since we have to decorate the house in all those lights?” Aramys said, smiling.

     “That could work, but we’d have to convince everyone else in the galaxy to do the same.”  Idan watched her frown, knowing that was simply impossible. “Or, it could be our secret name, just between you and I.”

     “A secret holiday?”

     “Why not?”

     “Do I get a surprise on Light Day like I do on Life Day?”

     “Of course,” Idan nodded, turning to a small wall console by the door.  His matching cloak floated behind him.

     “Why do I have to wear this?” Aramys grumbled.  The fabric was cheap, scratchy, and very heavy.

     “Because it’s cold outside,” Idan said.

     “Cold enough for snow?”

     “Probably,” Idan nodded, inputting a code of numbers into the console.

     “What are you doing?” she asked, the cord that tied her cloak finding its way into her mouth.  She began to chew on it anxiously.

     “I’m putting in a special code so we can leave,” Idan said, “See the red light on my collar?” He pointed to his neck, where a red indicator light flashed under his left ear.  Aramys nodded. “Watch this.”

     Idan’s long slender fingers flew across the pad, melodical beeps corresponding to each number.  There was a louder beep and the red light on his collar turned blue, flashing back to red every few seconds.

     “Whoa,” Aramys said, truly impressed.  She’d never seen the light change colors.  Twisting her neck, she tried to see if her own light had turned blue, but with little success.  Idan laughed as the door unlocked with a loud click.

     “That flashing means that we can leave the house.  We can be away for up to three hours before we’re considered runaways.”

     “We can run away?” Aramys said.

     “No,” Idan chuckled, “We can’t.  Because we’d be arrested and bad things would happen.”

     “Like what?”

     Idan sighed, lifting a wire basket and hooking it into the crook of his arm.  He extended his other hand for Aramys to take as the door to the apartment opened.  Aramys had always had an insatiable curiosity.  That with her supposedly newfound force sensitivity worried Idan a great deal.  He wasn’t sure she’d be able to hide her connection as he had.

     “I don’t know,” he lied, “I’ve never runaway.”

     It was true that he’d never run away, he wasn’t that foolish.  But he knew all too well what would happen if you were caught, and it often made death look like a mercy.

 

     Aramys thankfully stayed silent during the elevator trip down from the apartment.  She ogled at the ornate wallpaper as they traveled downward.

     The elevator stopped at the fifth floor, and the doors opened to young couple, not far from Idan’s age.  They didn’t wear collars, and looked at him in distaste.  Idan took Aramys’ hand back into his and pulled her off the elevator.

     “Please, pardon us,” he said softly, lowering his head to the couple as they walked onto the elevator.

     Aramys tugged at her father’s hand, quietly protesting their sudden evacuation.  Looking down at her, he shook his head as the elevator’s doors closed, leaving them in the fifth floor hall alone.

     “What happened?” she demanded, jutting out her lower lip as she always did when she pouted.

     “We had to get off so they could use the elevator,” Idan said, hoping a simple explanation would be enough.

     “It can only fit two people?”

     “Something like that,” Idan said, guiding her towards the stairs.  He didn’t have the stamina to get into the whole slave thing with her again.  She still had a hard time understanding why she wasn’t as important as everyone else, why her needs didn’t matter.  Not that he expected her to, she was still just a baby.  A stubborn inquisitive baby, but still a baby.  He held her hand as they continued their descent by stairs.

     “Why couldn’t they wait?”

     “Because they were in a rush,”

     “How do you know?”

     “I’m an adult, I know what other adults want.”

     “Will I?”

     “Someday, perhaps.” Idan nodded.

 

     The lobby of the building was empty, as it usually was this time of morning.  Large glass doors allowed Aramys a view of New Adasta she’d never seen.  Everything looked big from the 46th floor, but down here, it all looked gargantuan.

     Letting go of her father’s hand, she rushed to the doors, bursting through them with reckless abandon.  Idan chased after her, calling her name.

     The frozen air outside made her shiver as soon as it hit her, but she was delighted by it. She stooped, grinning up at the sky. The smells, the sounds, the sights, they were all new to her.

     “Alright, we’ve got a few stops to make, so we don’t have a lot of time to doddle around,” Idan said, coming to a slow stop behind her.  He looked down. 

     “There’s no snow,” she said, looking more than a little disappointed.  Idan followed her gaze up to the rocky ceiling high above them.

     “No, our building is built beneath the part of the city that gets snow,” Idan said.

     “Are we going there?” Aramys asked, hopeful.

     “Not today, I’m afraid,” he said as Aramys wilted beside him. “But next time.”

     “I can come next time?”

     “If you’re on your best behavior today, of course you can.” Idan reached out for her hand.  With one of the biggest smiles Idan had ever seen, she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and put her little hand in his.

 


End file.
